The Pilgrim Song (House of Winslow Book #29)

By Gilbert Morris

Like wayfarers before them in a foreign land, they learn to sing...

Lewis Winslow has money, a large fancy house, and a bright future in business, but he's lost his beloved wife and now fears he is losing his children as well. Josh seeks one thrill after another, while Jenny finds her excitement at society parties. Kat, an all-out tomboy, is living in her own world, and Hannah has become a recluse. Their father isn't sure what to do about any of them.

When the stock market crash robs the Winslows of the material comforts they have enjoyed, will they unite as a family? Lliving in poverty is like living in a foreign land for this Winslow family. The strength of their faith will determine whether they thrive--or merely survive--in the face of unfamiliar and fearsome hardship.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
• Release date: Dec 1, 2006
• ISBN: 9781441270542

Gilbert Morris

Gilbert Morris is one of today’s best-known Christian novelists, specializing in historical fiction. His best-selling works include Edge of Honor (winner of a Christy Award in 2001), Jacob’s Way, The Spider Catcher, the House of Winslow series, the Appomattox series, and The Wakefield Saga. He lives in Gulf Shores, Alabama with his wife, Johnnie.

Book preview

Author

CHAPTER ONE

A Birthday to Remember

Kat Winslow sailed through the back door so fast it slammed with a bang, but she did not pause for an instant. She threaded her way through the servants who crowded the kitchen, and Susan Mason—never called anything but Cook—turned from the stove, a harried look on her face. Why aren’t you dressed, Katherine? You look awful!

The twelve-year-old simply grabbed a cookie from the counter, laughed, and sped out of the kitchen. The sound of the musicians warming up for the dance caught her attention for a moment, but then she ignored it. Turning up an ornate curving staircase, she raced to the top and then to the door at the far end of the long hallway. She opened the door and stepped inside but was halted when a cry met her.

Kat, shut that door! I’m not dressed!

What kind of underwear is that? Kat asked, ignoring her sister’s protests. She advanced and walked around her sister, her head cocked to one side.

Jenny Winslow was wearing a peach-colored satin bra, embroidered at the edges with white flowers, and a girdle attached to fine silk stockings. Jenny was a striking young woman of seventeen with red hair and unusually dark green eyes. Her face was heart shaped, and her lips were broad and expressive. Right now they were expressing distaste. Don’t you ever bother to knock?

Not for family I don’t.

What are you wearing those overalls for? It’s almost time for my party to begin. And you’re filthy! What have you been doing?

I’ve been in the garden digging up worms. I’m going fishing in the morning. Kat went over and plumped herself down in a chair and examined her older sister curiously.

Kat had gray-green eyes and tawny hair, and she cared nothing for what she called girlie stuff, including clothes and makeup and parties. A summer’s tan coated her skin, and a few light freckles were scattered across her nose.

Marie DuPree, the dark-haired French ladies’ maid at the Winslow house, made a face. I never see a girl like you, she snorted. You care nothing for clothes, and you go around looking like a hobo. Hurry now—you need to take a bath and get into your party dress.

Ignoring Marie, Kat stared at her sister and demanded, Jenny, when will I have bosoms?

Jenny blinked with shock and gasped slightly. "Kat, do you have to say everything that comes into your mind?"

How am I going to say it if it doesn’t come into my mind? When will I?

Jenny laughed shortly and shook her head in disbelief. You ought to be more careful what you say. It’s not polite to talk about such things.

Why not?

It’s not genteel.

But when will I?

Very soon, I suppose. Maybe next year. Now go get dressed, and Marie will come and help you do your hair.

I can fix it myself.

I know how you’ll fix it! You mind what I say. She smiled and ran her hand over Kat’s hair. It’s my birthday, remember. I get to have my own way.

Kat grinned broadly. You always get your own way.

Out of here—go!

As the door closed behind Kat, Marie said, Do you theenk she will ever outgrow—whatever eet eez she has become?

She’s just a tomboy, Marie. She’ll grow out of it.

Were you zat way when you were her age?

No, I was certainly never that way, but I’m not worried about her. She’ll change.

Marie crossed the room to pick up Jenny’s dress, holding it for a moment and running her hand over it fondly. A thought struck her, and she motioned with her head. And Miss Hannah, will she be at zee party?

You know she won’t, Marie.

I thought, maybe, since eet was your birthday—

She used to come to parties when it was just the family, but you know how she hates to be around parties and things like that with outsiders.

Marie cocked her head to one side. She was an attractive young woman of twenty with intense black eyes. Was she always so . . . so strange?

No, I don’t think so.

Why she eez so afraid of people?

I can’t say.

And she eez thirty now—never married? That eez not normal.

A troubled light touched Jenny’s eyes. She took the dress from Marie and held it up in front of her. Her eyes were on the large full-length mirror, but her mind was on her sister. I don’t understand Hannah, she sighed. All she wants to do is read sermons and go to church. Here, help me put the dress on.

Marie took the dress and helped Jenny slip it on, then fastened it. It eez a beautiful dress! She sighed. The sleeveless dress was made out of cream silk chiffon and had a low cowl neckline. The bodice fit snugly to the waist, and the smooth silk skirt flowed gently out until it touched the ground in soft drapes around her legs.

Jenny turned around, looking at the back, then said, Go up and see if you can talk Hannah into coming. I know she probably won’t come, but I bought her a new dress, so ask her.

I will go, but you are right, Miss Jennifer. She probably will not come. Marie shook her head and looked back over her shoulder before leaving the room. "She eez not natural, that one!"

****

Kat rushed into her own bedroom, slammed the door behind her, then gave the room a quick glance. How different it was from Jenny’s ornate room. Instead of feminine accouterments, hers was filled with specimens she had caught—butterflies pinned to the wall, insects in jars, and a dried snakeskin hanging from a peg. Books were scattered everywhere, all of them having to do with bugs or snakes or animals. A clipper ship model, half finished, filled a table, and clothes littered the room. Pictures cut from magazines and newspapers were pinned carelessly to the walls. The room was a despair to the maid, but nothing anyone said changed Kat’s habits. Remembering her sister’s admonition, she peeled off her overalls, snatched up a blue robe, then dashed down the hallway to the bathroom, where she took a quick bath, splashing water all over the floor. She left a dirty bathtub ring, for she had indeed gotten grubby digging for worms, but she knew the maids would take care of that.

When she returned to her room, she slipped into the pretty new dress Jenny had bought for her. It was a shiny green cotton with shoes to match. She put on the shoes, then gave her hair a few swipes with a brush. She liked keeping it short and would have cut it even shorter—like a boy’s—but both her sisters and their father drew the line at that.

Leaving her room, Kat heard the orchestra again, and when she reached the foot of the stairs, she saw people coming in the front door being greeted by her father. Standing beside him was Lucy Daimen, and Kat involuntarily made a face. I don’t see why he has to marry that old Lucy! she thought. She wove her way back to the kitchen and picked up some diamond-cut canapés, one in each hand, and went outside through a side door. She stopped abruptly when she saw a man and a woman standing in the shadows of the side garden. The chauffeur had his arms around the new maid. Mabel Bateman was only seventeen, and in the faint light from the kitchen window, Kat could tell that her face was red.

Kat said very loudly, What are you doing, Earl?

Earl Crane, a burly man with tow-colored hair and hazel eyes, whirled quickly, anger twisting his face. Nothing! he said. Go on back to the party!

I’ll bet Daddy wouldn’t like it if he knew you were kissing Mabel.

Mabel took this opportunity to pull away and dash past Kat into the house.

You’re a pretty nosy kid, Earl complained.

I won’t tell Dad if you’ll do me a favor.

What kind of a favor?

Teach me how to drive the car.

I can’t do that! Your dad would fire me!

He won’t have to know. You teach me to drive when nobody’s around, and I won’t tell Dad you’re kissing the maids.

Crane laughed conspiratorially. Okay, kid, we’ll do it.

Kat was pleased with this arrangement. She had often asked her father to let her drive, but he had always refused. Now she thought about what fun it would be to drive, and she skipped back into the house. For the next ten minutes she wandered around tasting the canapés and petit fours. She was finally interrupted by her father, who appeared with Lucy Daimen at his side.

Are you ready for the party, Kat? he asked.

Lewis Winslow carried his fifty-five years well. He had always been slim and had gained little weight over the years. His light brown hair had minute flecks of gray, and his dark brown eyes peered at her from his squarish face. For some reason, he did not seem particularly happy at this moment, though he smiled warmly at his youngest daughter.

Lewis’s fiancée clung to his arm. Kat did not like Lucy, who at thirty-four was in her opinion much too young for her father. Lucy was sharp-featured but not unattractive, with auburn hair and brown eyes. Now Lucy murmured sweetly, Your hair’s not combed, dear. Do you want me to help you with it? Why didn’t you get Marie to help you with it?

’Cause I did it myself, Kat said, turning quickly and darting away.

Lucy shook her head. We’ve got to do something with that child.

Lewis watched Kat disappear, a fond look in his eyes. She’ll be all right. He looked at the gathered crowd and shook his head. This is some party, Lucy. You’ve worked so hard on it, you must be exhausted.

No, I love it! You know how I love to do things like this. Her mind was still on Kat, and she squeezed Lewis’s arm possessively. After we’re married, I’ll teach Katherine how to be a lady. I’ll bring her out of her tomboy ways.

Lewis smiled and shook his head. I hope so.

He had known Lucy for five years. She was the only child of Leo Daimen, a wealthy railroad man. She had a quickness about her that pleased him, and she had brought Lewis out of his solitary ways. He had surprised himself by proposing marriage and was even more surprised by her acceptance. Deep down, Lewis knew he was doing it for his children more than for himself.

And I can help Hannah too. She’d be quite pretty if she’d dress more suitably.

I hope you can help her. I worry about Hannah a lot. She’s become nothing but a recluse.

We can fix that. Trust me. Lucy smiled brightly.

For a moment Lewis stood silently, thinking about his wedding. He had lost his first wife, Deborah, two years earlier, to the flu. During the last decade, he had made a bundle of money in the stock market, which had come as a great surprise to him. It had been fun while Deborah was alive, but after her death he had sunk into a deep depression, throwing himself into his business and making even more money to fill the emptiness. In a way, he could understand Hannah’s reluctance to be here, for he himself did not usually care for large parties.

I’m too old for you, he said abruptly.

Nonsense! Lucy retorted. It’s going to be a wonderful marriage. We’re going to do tremendous things. You’ll see.

I hope so. He shook his head sadly. I’m worried about Hannah—and about Joshua.

He can change too. I’ll take him in hand. Come along, now. We’ve got to be better hosts than this!

****

Joshua Winslow handled the big Packard with reckless ease, his wrist drooped over the wheel. It was obvious he’d had a few drinks. He turned and grinned at his friend Arlen Banks, who sat beside him. Nervous, Arlen? Afraid I’ll pile us up?

You drive like a maniac, Josh! You’d scare anyone. Arlen Banks was a tall, lanky man with dark hair, deep blue eyes, and aristocratic features. The two men were the same age and best friends. It’s going to be a huge party, I understand. Jenny said Lucy invited half the people in New York.

Yes, she did. Even the Roosevelts are going to be here and maybe some of the Astors. You know Lucy.

Arlen turned quickly. You don’t sound too enthusiastic about your future stepmother.

She’s all right. Josh shrugged. She’ll shake Dad up a bit. I’ve been worried about him ever since Mom died. He hasn’t been himself. He took a curve too fast and laughed as Arlen grabbed the seat to steady himself. What about your brother Preston? What’s he doing now?

He’s in Europe on an extended honeymoon. Been there nearly a year, Arlen said.

Josh swerved to avoid a chuckhole and did not answer at once. At the age of twenty-seven, he still possessed a boyish look. He was lean, and his alert gray eyes and tawny hair made him the cynosure of women’s attention. You know, we all thought he’d marry Hannah. Does he ever talk about her?

Never mentions her. Arlen hesitated before saying, Is she any better?

No, she’s not. Can’t get her out of her room except to go to church. I think she’s getting worse.

Did she ever tell you why she broke off her engagement with Pres?

No, she never would discuss it, but it broke Mom’s heart. You know, up until that happened, Hannah was a lot like Jenny is now—lively and lots of fun, always doing things.

Yes, I remember. Has she ever been to see a doctor?

Dad made her go about a year after it happened, but it didn’t do any good. Of course people think she’s crazy.

Oh, I never hear that.

Well, they do, believe me. They think she’s a mental case, but she’s not. She’s as smart a woman as I ever saw.

Josh pulled the car up in front of the Winslow house, an enormous brownstone mansion set far back off Fifth Avenue, bordering other properties of the rich and famous, right across from Central Park. Numerous cars lined the circular driveway, with chauffeurs waiting in each one while their employers enjoyed the party. Arlen studied the house as he got out. Lewis Winslow had bought it only a year earlier. The Romanesque house with a corner tower and a rounded-arch entrance was surrounded by short, thick colonnades. Arlen did not particularly like it, thinking it looked like a prison. Do you like this house, Josh?

No, as a matter of fact, I don’t. It’s like living in a museum. Lucy talked Dad into buying it.

It’ll be a little strange having a stepmother only a few years older than you are, won’t it?

Josh did not answer, and Arlen knew he’d touched a nerve. His friend had enough intelligence to do anything in life he wanted. Josh had studied archeology in college but had dropped out before his senior year. Arlen had always vaguely connected his change of attitude with the enormous amounts of money Lewis Winslow had made. Sudden wealth had somehow taken the drive out of Joshua, and he had become the proverbial playboy, enjoying fast cars, too much drink, and parties almost every night. Since he had quit school he had done nothing but waste his time. Arlen had once asked him if he would ever go back to college, but the answer had been curt. Nope. What’s the use?

Earl Crane approached Joshua at the front entrance, saying, I’ll park it, Mr. Winslow.

Thanks, Earl. Come on, Arlen.

The two entered the massive front foyer under a glittering chandelier and were greeted at once by Lewis Winslow and Lucy. Lewis caught the scent of liquor on Joshua, and his lips tightened, but he merely said, Hello, son. Hello, Arlen. It’s good to see you.

Good to see you too, Mr. Winslow, and you, Miss Daimen. You’re lovely—as always. He brought her extended gloved hand to his lips and gave an elegant bow, then turned and spotted Jenny dancing in the expansive drawing room turned ballroom for the occasion. He grinned saucily. I’m going to cut in on Fred. He can’t dance anyway.

As Arlen headed for the dance floor, Lewis said darkly, I don’t see why you had to drink tonight, son.

I just had a couple, Dad. Don’t start preaching.

Lewis shrugged his shoulders. Why don’t you go up and talk to Hannah. See if you can get her to come down. It is Jenny’s birthday, after all.

All right. I’ll see what I can do.

Josh took the steps up the curving front stairway two at a time as Arlen threaded his way across the dance floor. He tapped Fred on the shoulder, and when the young man turned, he said, Cutting in, Fred.

Fred Simpkins said sourly, I thought you would. Thanks for the dance, Jenny.

You’re welcome, Fred. Ask me again.

Arlen took Jenny in his arms and swept her around the floor. I like this better than the Charleston.

Nobody does the Charleston anymore, Jenny said.

I’m glad to hear that. He spun her around, then said, You’re looking very beautiful.

I knew you’d say that.

How did you know?

You always say that.

Well, you’re always beautiful.

Jenny laughed. She couldn’t help liking Arlen Banks. She had begun seeing him only six months earlier, and he was fun to be with. He had plenty of money, as his father owned a number of factories that manufactured farm equipment. But Arlen was ten years older than Jenny—far too old to take as a serious suitor.

As they danced Arlen asked, You know what I’m wondering?

What?

I was just wondering, if you were a little older, what kind of a married couple we’d make.

Arlen, that is the most unromantic thing a man has ever said to a woman!

What do you want me to do? Arlen grinned. After all, you’re only seventeen. I’ll have to wait at least another three or four years before you’re old enough to get married.

Well, it won’t be to you!

Why not?

Because you’ll be too old then.

Arlen laughed. I suppose you’re right, but I can always dream. What’s your father going to get you for your birthday?

He’s already gotten it. A new mare. She’s gorgeous!

You’re going to break your neck one of these days riding those spirited horses.

Without warning, Arlen leaned forward and kissed her square on the lips without missing a step, then laughed. There. Happy birthday.

Caught off guard, Jenny smiled and giggled as she shook her head. You are the most unromantic man I have ever known! I would never marry you in a hundred years!

What if I learned to write poetry and play the guitar? How would that be? He continued to tease her, and as they danced, she thought about how much she liked him and wished he were five years younger.

****

As soon as Joshua tapped on Hannah’s door, he heard her say, Come in. He went inside and glanced around, thinking how different the room was from Jenny’s. Stern, utilitarian, with few decorations. A massive rolltop desk dominated one wall, and across the room a set of enormous bookcases packed full rose to the ceiling. It was almost like an office, except for the mahogany bed with the lace canopy and the cherrywood antique washstand. The few pictures on the wall were original oils by well-known painters in the city—very expensive, Joshua knew. Even her choices in artwork were rather severe, he thought—traditional gardens and architecture, nothing splashy or modern. Hannah rose from the desk.

You’re not dressed, he said.

Yes I am.

Hannah Winslow, at the age of thirty, was attractive, with large brown eyes and shiny, thick auburn hair, though she insisted on pulling it back into a bun as a much older woman would wear it. She was not as beautiful as Jenny, but her features were stronger. Her eyes were expressive and her mouth firm. But there was a vulnerability about her that Josh had never been able to pin down. She’d had a happy childhood but then had disappointed her family. They had all expected her to marry well and have children. Instead, she’d broken her engagement to Preston Banks and had confined herself to the house, refusing most social invitations. She read constantly and helped to manage the large house and servants but was little more than a recluse. She cared nothing for stylish clothes. Instead of the maroon evening gown Jenny had bought her for the party, she was wearing a plain light blue day dress that did not suit her.

I thought you might come down for Jenny’s party.

No, I don’t think I will.

But Jenny said she bought you a new gown for the occasion.

Hannah shook her head, and Joshua saw that gentle persuasion was not going to work. He stood there uncertainly and said, You used to come to the birthday parties.

Just when it was the family. Something changed in Hannah’s face. I remember how wonderful it was when Mother was alive. We didn’t have a lot of money. Remember the house we grew up in?

Yes, of course I do.

It was a home, Joshua. At times I wish Father hadn’t made so much money.

I don’t wish that.

Josh, why did you give up on college? Hannah’s voice was quiet, and there was a soft pleading in her eyes. She put out her hand and touched his arm. You could have done anything you wanted to, but you just quit.

Josh cringed at the stinging words. It didn’t seem to matter anymore. We had plenty of money. I didn’t see any sense in working myself to death. Then he made a remark he would not have made if he had been completely sober. "Why did you give up? I may be a drunk, but you’re a hermit. Neither of us can face life. As soon as the words were out, Josh was repentant. I’m sorry, sis, he said. It’s the liquor talking."

Hannah whispered, It’s all right, Josh, but you go on. There’s nothing down there for me.

****

Leo Daimen was a tall, heavyset man of sixty. He had all the marks of the wealth he’d accumulated in railroads. He was very opposed to his only daughter’s marriage to the much older Lewis Winslow and had done all he could to talk Lucy out of it but without success.

It’s a nice party, isn’t it, Father? Lucy asked him.

I suppose, Leo replied gruffly. But a bit ornate for a seventeen-year-old, I’d say.

Just between you and me, this party is as much for Lewis as it is for Jennifer. I want Lewis to come out of himself more, and I believe he will once we’re married.

I worry about this family, Lucy. They’re not stable. Why, just think of that older sister. She’s nothing but a hermit—something’s not normal there. And Joshua is becoming a fall-down drunk.

I’ll get them all straightened out once we’re married. They just need the influence of a sophisticated woman in this house, that’s all.

At that moment Kat came along, and Lucy said brightly, Oh, Katherine! Are you having fun?

Yes, actually I am.

Lucy’s face fell as she spotted Kat’s shoes. Why, you’ve got dirt all over your shoes.

I went outside for a bit.

Lucy shook her head. You should go to the kitchen and clean them off. She looked at the paper bag in the girl’s hand. What’s that?

Nothing.

Come on, now. We have no secrets. Let me see it.

Do you really want to, Miss Lucy?

Of course I do.

"Are you sure?"

Lucy laughed. Yes, I’m sure.

Well, all right. Kat handed the woman the sack, and Lucy opened it. She froze as a small green snake stuck his head up out of the sack. She screamed and dropped the bag, and Kat whisked it up, grinning. Don’t you like snakes?

Get it out of here! Take it away! Lucy cried as she ran to the other side of the large room.

Lewis had just entered the room, and he came over and asked his daughter what happened.

She wanted to see what was in my sack, Kat said innocently.

And you gave it to her?

Kat shrugged. She insisted. I don’t think she liked it much.

Lewis tried to conceal a grin. Most ladies don’t like snakes.

Kat looked up at him and said seriously, I like snakes better than I like some people.

Lewis laughed and hugged her. I’d have to agree with you, but don’t tell anybody.

He went to find Lucy to make his apologies, but she was highly upset and would not be consoled. He listened to her patiently, then shook his head. She’s a little bit like her mother.

Well, she’ll have to change.

I suppose so, Lewis said, and for the moment he tried to look ahead, thinking what changes would come when he and Lucy were married. Marrying Lucy had seemed like a good idea, but lately he’d been having some doubts. Maybe we’ll be all right, he tried to assure himself. I certainly need help from somebody. . . .

CHAPTER TWO

Jailbird Gardener

Lewis Winslow spread the paper out on his desk, glanced at the date, September 20, 1929, then ran his eyes over the stock market report. He shook his head and muttered sourly, "This is insane! It can’t go on. . . ."

He checked the Dow Jones Industrial Average, wondering if the whole country had lost its mind. Buying stocks had become a national mania. Even the poorest of working people were pooling their funds and buying five shares of some stock, without the least idea of what they were buying. He read an article that said more than a million Americans had bought stock and that three hundred million shares of stock were being carried on margin, meaning on credit. The papers were replete with stories of people who’d made fortunes. Lewis himself knew of a broker’s valet who had made nearly a quarter of a million in the market. He’d also heard of a nurse who had made thirty thousand dollars by following tips given her by grateful patients. With a gesture of disgust, Lewis shuffled through the paper, catching up on the other news of the day.

He read with interest about the travels of Charles and Anne Lindbergh, who had married in the spring and were now flying to many foreign lands together. He also read of the explorer Richard Byrd, who was waiting in the Antarctic darkness at his base named Little America for his chance to fly to the South Pole. In sports, the colorful American tennis player Bill Tilden had won his seventh amateur tennis championship, Bobby Jones ruled the world of golf, and Babe Ruth was still hammering out home runs.

The door opened quietly, and Lewis’s secretary, Miss Handley, stuck her head inside. There’s a gentleman here to see you, sir.

What’s his name?

Mr. Fred Davenport.

Fred Davenport? Well, show him in. Lewis got up from his chair and moved across the room. When a diminutive man wearing an outdated light brown suit entered the room, Lewis said, Fred, it’s good to see you! He took the man’s hand, noticing that it was hard and calloused. Where in the world have you been?

It’s good to see you too, Mr. Winslow. Davenport’s apprehensive expression was replaced with a relaxed smile at Lewis’s greeting. I hated to bust in without an appointment—

Never mind all that. Come in and have a seat. Lewis waved at the chair, and as his guest sat down carefully, holding a worn derby in his lap, he went to the door and said, Could we have some coffee please, Ellen? He shut the door and said, This is fine! I haven’t seen you in—oh, I don’t know how many years.

It’s been a long time, Mr. Winslow.

Oh, never mind the ‘mister,’ Fred. Lewis was good enough for us in Cuba.

Well, yes it was, but things have changed.

Lewis pulled his chair closer to Davenport’s and began questioning him. Davenport had been in his squad in the Spanish-American War. They had been under fire together, and Davenport had once saved Lewis from getting hit by pulling him back just as a fusillade of shots rang out. Lewis had later distinguished himself in that war by winning the Congressional Medal of Honor.

The coffee arrived, and for twenty minutes the two men exchanged their stories. Finally Davenport said, "Well, I’ve come asking a favor. That’s the way it is with old acquaintances, isn’t it? You don’t see ’em for years, then suddenly there they

Reviews for The Pilgrim Song (House of Winslow Book #29)

[Cyril Albar · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

your fans will really enjoy this book. ... If you have some great stories like this one, you can publish it on Novel Star, just submit your story to [e-mail] or [e-mail]